Le Fantome De L'Opera
by Crew Cut Ballerina
Summary: Erik, the previously known 'Phantom of the Opera', still resides in the dark earthy catacombs of the Opera Populaire. Little does he know, as the building has finished reconstruction, After the fire that demolished it Christine, now theVicomtess de Chagny, has returned as the leading soprano. DISCLAIMER! i did not write this, my sibling who was too embarassed to post did.
1. More Monster Than Man

**DISCLAIMER! I did not write this, my sibling did, Sibling was too embarrassed to post this so I stole it and posted it for said Sibling, please enjoy and review, constructive critism is welcomed  
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Erik sighed and rested his head against his organ. A few long, drawn-out, discordant notes seeped out, but he didn't care. He was alone. It wasn't the first time either; he had spent most of his life alone. The part of loneliness he hated the most was that dull, aching feeling in his chest. It was the part that constantly reminded him that he was alone, that there was no one in the world who would willingly stay by his side and save him from this hell.

Ah, how he missed Christine! How he hated that blasted Vicomte Raoul! That strangely handsome boy with his charming smile coupled with his insatiable charisma, who swept Christine off her feet and out of his grasp right before his cursed eyes. Oh, curse his ugliness! Curse this face which he had bestowed upon him from birth! It was all of his problems, it was the reason people shunned him and laughed at him. It was the reason he was alone, the reason he had lost Christine.  
After the fire had been put out from the Opera Populaire, people stopped looking for him. They marched down to his lair, his home, and ruined everything beyond repair as Erik hid and watched as they tore apart everything he owned. They thought they had looked everywhere, however, they had not thought to look for shadows. They were fools. Erik was the shadow that surrounded them at the Opera Populaire, he was everywhere and nowhere. He knew everything about the Opera Populaire; it was his domain, where he ruled, where he was feared.

They repaired the Opera Populaire upon the ruins of the previous one. They did not think to look down into the darkness of the earth for Erik's home, and so he was forgotten. It had been announced in the papers some years before that Erik had died, but Christine never came to bury him as she promised she would, even she had forgotten about him. The thought of her in_ his_ arms made him sick. He probably convinced her never to return, in case it was a trick, in case he was just trying to fool her, which was true, but undeniably heartless. He had inspired her voice; he had given her hope just as that hope was reciprocated! What had Raoul done for her? Erik had devoted his life to her and she threw it away for him! 'Why, Christine?' Erik murmured to himself as he slowly pulled himself away from his thoughts and began to play sweet, sweet music filled with an undertone of a sadness long recognised by those who would never have their love reciprocated.

Erik knew all too well why. Raoul was beautiful, angelic even! He was disgusting, a wretched gargoyle from hell. Christine deserved an angel, as she was an angel after all. His beautiful angel of music, a delicate creature who would be spoiled by that idiot Vicomte. He would take her and spoil her. Erik would not be able to have anything to do with her. He wished he could! He wished he could hold her in his arms and never let go, to feel her embrace warm his cold, death-like skin as she rested her head softly on his chest and as he sang sweet lullabies to her. They would both sleep so peacefully, and when they awoke, they would spend the day singing, with the emotions rising in the music so much so, that she would just have to kiss him! He missed those kisses. They were only brief, but he remembered those moments and cherished them.  
He wished they were for him though. How he wished Christine had kissed him because she loved him. Not the Vicomte, but him. The hideous, gargoyle who had lied to her and manipulated her but only because he loved her, only because he wanted her to be his forever. He should have known it was impossible for him. His own mother would cower in fear when he tried to kiss her, or hug her. All he wanted was a small gesture of human affection, kindness, compassion, something which he did not receive.

Music was Erik's life now; music was what comforted him when he was lonely or sad. Music was what made him fall in love over and over again, roused emotions even he did not know he was capable of feeling. His music was like an autobiography, every stave, every clef, every bar-line or rest described an anecdote in his lonely little life. Erik took solace in the fact that no one would be able to decipher the meaning of his music. They would only see it as lines and dots and only hear it as music and nothing more. There was a possibility that someone with intelligence would recognise it for what it is, but what did that matter? Genius was often disregarded as insanity, much like his own. Maybe this other genius would hear his music and fall in love with him and they could be together, mad and in love.

It was all nonsense, of course. No one would love him and he would be better off driving out those thoughts before they manifested themselves into a hope that would prove itself so great he would find himself wanting to end his life when it was shattered. Yes, he had dreams, just like any normal man. He was normal on the inside, with the right number of organs, the right number of digits, everything worked normally, he just looked like a corpse. He still dreamed like a man though, he often thought of a life where his music would be hailed and he could live with a wife in an apartment and have beautiful, musical children that would run around them as he and his wife embraced. He would never have it, but that did not stop him from dr-  
'Monsieur le Fantome?' An all too familiar voice interrupted his thought.  
'What do you want woman? I told you not to disturb me!' She flinched as the poison in his voice rang through her ears. She moved cautiously towards him as he glared at her with one of his scowls. Madame Giry could sense his loneliness and would often visit him on nonsense errands, just to make sure his solitude was not complete. This was the only reason Erik allowed it. For some reason, just as he was about to lose his mind completely Madame Giry would appear, helping him retain that last ounce of sanity. She placed an old, bony hand on one of his shoulders.  
'Christine Dae and the Vicomte de Chagny are returning to the opera tonight.' She could see Erik flinch at the mere mention of the duo. 'Monsieur Firmin et monsieur Andr are throwing a bal masque to celebrate the opening of the new opera house and Mlle. Da e and the Vicomte are to be their special guests. I had thought I should tell you that Christine Da e has come back to perform at the opera house. She left quickly without another word lest she be victim to one of Erik's infamous tantrums.

Erik felt the pressure of the emotions of that night where he gave Christine away, the night where he let Christine run into the arms of the Vicomte, where he let his whole world go, build up and explode into a terrible scream that shook the very walls of the Opera Populaire. Anyone straying near to the cellars would have trembled in fear and made it their best interest to get to their dormitory as quickly as possible, for fear the Opera Ghost would surely have ensnared them with his dreaded Punjab lasso.


	2. Wishing You Were Somehow Here again

Christine Da e lay across the chaise longues in her dressing room, facing the full length mirror adjacent to where she now sat. It was years ago when she was still young, that she had gazed into her reflection and that mysterious man/monster Erik had appeared. Long ago when she had been in her room and heard the adorable voice coming from inside the walls. She became friends with it, like a dream come true it told her it was the angel of music her father had promised her when she was but a child. This precious dream quickly tumbled into a monstrous nightmare where her beautiful, kind angel of music was a cold-blooded murderer who would stop at nothing until he trapped her with him forever. Still, she felt for him, her maniacally passionate, but strangely sad, angel of music.

She trembled at the thought that her omnipresent stalker would find her once again and try to ensnare her with his heavenly voice and innocent but malevolent charms. Was it a tremble of fear? Is that what she felt for him now? It seemed such a simple emotion for such a complex situation. She had not loved him at that time, but she had felt compassion for him, even if it was only slightly. She had not buried him like he had asked and this caused her great remorse. She missed those simple days where he would simply sing to her and she would only have to believe that he was her own personal angel, someone to protect her and guide her. Isn t that all he had tried to do? He only wanted her so he could protect her and guide her to greatness she would never have been able to achieve on her own. She suddenly did not feel as wary of the Phantom after her epiphany, she suddenly felt some of the hatred she had previously known, dissipate and reform as a feeling of sadness that she had not previously known. Was she sad her Angel of Music had died? No, no she was merely guilty that she had not returned, but she had feared that he was not dead. That he would take her away from her precious Raoul and she would have to live with that horrible creature underground for the rest of her life.

He was dead now though. She had seen it in the papers. A part of her wanted to believe that it was accidental, or he died of natural causes, but she knew it was because she had broken his already fragile heart. She knew that her leaving so abruptly, her love for the Vicomte had broken poor, sad, lonely Erik s heart. She felt for the strange man, the haunting shadow that would follow her every move whether she knew it or not. She felt sorry for him that he had allowed himself to be ensnared in her own trap, nothing like his which were all ropes and pulleys. Her trap was simple, so simple any man would have fallen into it, but it had to be that man, that shadow, that monster, who would have captured her and held her until her dying day, suffocating any dreams she d ever had with Raoul. Her trap was her endless beauty and innocence, something she had always held from the day and hour she was born. These qualities were something a lot of men marvelled at but Erik especially. He was always in awe of her, she overwhelmed him, consumed him and all of his time, it was almost as though she owned him.

A shy knock at her door awoke her from her daydream. Christine, my love? Are you there? It was a man s voice, but not the man s voice which she had wished to hear. It was her husband s, Raoul s. She did love Raoul, but not as much as she used to. Time had put a strain on their relationship and it was not the na ve, young love that she had cherished all those years ago. Christine had often thought of the life she could have had with Erik, her grotesque, haunting angel of music. Coming, love. She responded, not with the same fervour she would have replied with when their romance first bloomed and they had escaped from the seemingly evil clutches of Erik s far reaching grasp. Still, his clutches only seemed evil, and as far as Erik liked to think his grasp reached, he could not reach them. They had disappeared and that is what broke his heart.

Are you ready for the Bal Masque, Christine? Raoul's voice echoed through the empty stone halls and it seemed as though she were surrounded by men. She only wanted to hear one voice though, that soothing, calming, angelic voice that filled her ears with melodious sound and her heart with heavenly joy. She chose a simple reply: Yes Raoul. Christine left her luxurious dressing room and placed a fake smile on her porcelain expression to comfort her husband. He must never know that she felt guilt for leaving Erik behind. He felt strongly about Christine never seeing him again. After all, this was the man that threatened to blow up the Opera Populaire if Christine did not choose him. He was a madman and a murderer and Raoul was adamant that Christine should leave him be for the rest of her life, lest she rouse his spirit, if it was not already in Hell.

They both travelled down through the stone-walled corridors into the grand hall, where the festivities were underway. There were hundreds of people covered in brightly coloured masks and costumes with the smell of fresh alcohol on their breath. Raoul was enjoying the party immensely, but Christine found it all too suffocating and found it made her feel claustrophobic. She would stay with Raoul, though she was looking for someone else. She was looking for a flash of that golden hue the Phantom s eyes emitted. She secretly wished that he would descend down the brilliant marble staircase like last time and curse them for dancing above the graves of dead men just so she could catch a glimpse of him and know that he was okay. So she could rid herself of the guilt that plagued her ever since she read the letter from the Parisian letting her know that Erik was gone.

She danced lazily though that night with Raoul, exchanging fake smiles and happy greetings to those who crossed their path and pretending like she did not have other things on her mind. She had to pretend that Raoul was all that mattered to her now and that her past stayed in its namesake and did not seep into the future. Everyone seemed to have a good time that night and Christine left reluctantly at the end of the night back to her husband s house without seeing a glimpse of anyone that even resembled the Angel. She had rather hoped that she would even see someone that had the same build as him to put her mind at rest, but this did not happen and now she was all the more worried. The phantom did not show up at the Bal Masque whatsoever. He hated festivities and surface-dwellers enjoying themselves whilst there were people below who had suffered and died and were now resting beneath their very feet. It did not seem right or just to whatever morals he had left in him. She hated to admit it, but she missed him in all his wicked glory and twisted genius.


	3. Masquerade

**This chapter was acually meant to be called 'Hide Your Face So The World Will Never Find You' but it was too long.**

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The dark, earthy and usually silent underground which Erik had made his home was now being invaded by the sounds of thumping, cheery music and general merry-making. The Bal Masque that those bumbling idiots André and Firmin were throwing was proving to be more annoying and more difficult to ignore than what Erik had previously thought. The loud and obnoxious music was putting a dampener on his creativity and to make matters worse he was completely distracted by the thought of Christine being twirled around by that insufferable Vicomte. Being held close as his hands rested on her gentle curves and she rested her beautiful, doll-like face against his handsome shoulders as they danced long into the night.

He would not be able to compose tonight. The thought of Christine clad in a luxurious ball gown which floated elegantly whenever she walked was too much for him. He was forced by this inviting, seductive image to don his own mask, cleverly disguising him as a regular citizen of Paris and head to the surface of which he saw so little of. Erik missed the warm sensation of the sun on his face, although he would never admit it. He felt that if he told himself that he hated the sun, he would begin to believe it and the urge for the pleasant beams shining upon him or the cool summer breezes would dissipate and would be replaced with a constant need to stay where he is, safe and enclosed from all the world. He decided not to wear the 'Red Death 'outfit as people would recognise him and Christine would surely run. So he settled for a simple black costume which did not bring attention to him but still disguised him.

He climbed through the various secret passageways that concealed his home and ascended into the upper area of the Opera Populaire, where the music and festivities were filling the empty halls with echoed notes, laughter and general chit-chat. He made his way through the throng of drunken people, sloppily falling over each other in an inebriated enamoured state. He wished he could be like that with Christine, without a care in the world. He would not have to worry about people sneering at his disgusting, malformed face. This is the reason he liked masquerade balls, people would not question his mask-wearing as in this environment, it was the norm, he could ease his way through the crowd and that, is precisely what he did. He mingled with the idiot mass that was populating the grand hall of the Opera Populaire and acted as though he were one of the aristocratic fops that seemed to be crawling out of the woodworks in Paris. This was not something he enjoyed doing. He hated people and the fate that they forced upon him.

Erik saw a glimpse of that warm, heavenly face that he had so longed for, but it immediately disappeared into the busy crowd forcing him to chase it down. He wanted to dance with Christine at the very least; he wanted to hold her perfect face framed by her perfect curls against his misshapen chest and dance with her until they both grew weary or too drunk to stand and collapsed as their bodies entwined in an intoxicated mess. He wished her to call out 'Erik!' as their hips met each time in their frenzied passion and not 'Raoul!' He never wished her to call his name. He longed for her to call him 'Erik' at least. She often referred to him as 'Phantom' or 'Opera Ghost'. He despised those names. They made him out to be some sort of dead corpse, back to haunt the living in an eternal rage. He was not a ghost, he never was. He was very much alive, but gave the impression that he must have been supernatural from his stage trickeries and general magician-ship.

One of the ballet rats took his hand and began to spin him round the room in a dizzying display of a shambolic dance. The poor thing was barely able to stand let alone dance and especially not in circles. This feat proved too great for her and she faltered away into the arms of one of the equally as inebriated stage hands. He caught another glimpse of Christine as she stood with Raoul, conversing with an old friend they had not seen in a good amount of years. He daren't get any closer to her, for he feared she would recognise him somehow and alert people to his existence and as much as he wanted to simply snatch her away, he did not want to cause more commotion about him as his home was at stake.

Seeing his Christine with that insufferable Vicomte infuriated Erik. There was something about his general person that made Erik boil with a rage he had not discovered before meeting him. He had a handsome face and a lot of money, which seemed to woo girls at every angle. Raoul had _everything_ that Erik wished he could have and more, including his beloved Christine, which was really all he wanted in life. There was one thing Erik was sure of, and that was his ability to fill Christine's person with a passion that could only be achieved through the most beautiful of music. Raoul could never accomplish this, and it left Erik feeling like he had an upper hand at something, regardless of how many accomplishments Raoul had and regardless of those Erik would never be able to attain. Perhaps he hated the Vicomte because he was all that Erik wished he could be with some left over! He was kind and courteous and had the manners, not to mention patience of a saint! He was never rude and could control his temper and hold his tongue. These were all qualities that Erik did not possess, and these were the qualities that Christine seemed to admire in Raoul. Maybe, she only adored them because they were the exact opposite of Erik's.

Still! He had always been gentle with her, apart from when she had ripped off his mask to reveal his horrid face. Then his temper had overcome him and he had trailed her about him using her own hair. He was ashamed of himself for allowing himself to hurt her like he did, if only he could show her that he was not like that, that he was gentle and kind and romantic. Oh, how he tried to be romantic! He had a whole room for her; he had made music for her the likes of which the world had never seen! He promised he would only say 'I love you' when she permitted and the rest of his time would be devoted her and to his music. Ah, if he had someone devoting their entire life to him! He would love them and care for them more than they had ever been cared for before in their life. They would not have to worry about being rejected, as long as the person who loves him is Christine of course.

Erik spent the remainder of his night stalking Christine through the hectic horde of the Parisian populace that packed the Grand Hall of the Opera Populaire. He followed her every move as she made her way with Raoul through the party and as they chatted to several of their acquaintances and old friends. He even got so close, he could almost touch her at one point, but he knew that if he did, it would mean an end to the secret life he had just began to grow accustomed to. He returned to his layer of solitude at the end of the night when the crowd had thinned out and there were only a few stragglers left behind. His night of following Christine had given him a new hope, that maybe this time, he could convince her that _he_ was the better choice.


	4. Where in the World Have You Been Hiding?

Erik awoke the next morning with a monstrous headache from the vast intake of the wine and all of the dancing that he was obliged to do in order to hide his intentions. He rubbed his forehead in an attempt to dispel the dull aching headache that was ailing him and temporarily depriving him of his ability to function normally. Ah, last night! He had been able to see Christine for the first time in a number of years. He had been able to see her beautiful smile that he so cherished. Christine had not smiled much when she was with him. Raoul had always been the one who would force a grin on her otherwise miserable face which she often wore after Erik had visited her. Why must he be stuck with the unparalleled pleasure of being able to make her scowl? That thought was interrupted by another, much more desirable idea, which slowly consumed his thoughts.

What if, he pondered to himself, What if the mirror he would use to watch Christine was still there? He could go and see his beloved Christine any time he wanted and without her ever having to know! It was perfect! If only it was still there! He quickly made his way through the secret passage ways and doors that trailed like a snake through the walls of the Opera Populaire. He made his way up the broken passage way that once led to Mlle. Da e s dressing room in the hopes that he could catch a glimpse of her, in the hopes that she would not have covered or removed the mirror that stood so proudly in her dressing room beforehand. He came to the last leg of his journey, speeding up ever so slightly, caught up in his excitement. He pleaded with fortune to let the mirror remain so that he may gaze upon her when he so wished.

At last, he saw the huge one-way mirror situated at the heart of Christine s dressing room, which he found had been converted into a dormitory so that she would not have to travel constantly to and from her countryside home. He approached it cautiously as he did not want her to know that he was essentially spying on her. Erik felt this was betraying her privacy and trust, but after all she had betrayed his, and he desperately needed to see her to ease the pain that had been nagging at him since last night. He arrived at the window-like opening that he had been so used to visiting before the whole mess with Raoul had come about. He had rather missed the days where he could freely talk to Christine through the mirror, and have long, interesting, engaging conversations with her about absolutely anything! She would tell him of her day, and little bits about her life and they began to grow closer to each other, and she even regarded him as a friend.

He heard a soft, angelic voice begin to speak, so he turned his attention to the mirror instead of his internal thoughts. Christine was singing one of the duets that they had so compassionately performed when she had stayed with him in his underground home. His heart rate quickened slightly. Was she thinking of him as he had so often thought of her? He mimed the accompanying part, singing with her in a silent duet exactly as he had done all that time ago. He stood watching her perfect curls fall about her feminine shoulders framing her stunning face, as she idly paced around her dressing room, singing the songs that they used to sing together. They did not sound complete without him, just as he was not complete without her.

His miming abruptly stopped as Christine began to undress, almost like a strip-tease, except Christine did not know that she had company. She was still singing the songs that they had shared when she started to slowly remove the frilled blouse that covered her modesty. Erik stood open mouthed as she slowly revealed the upper half of her perfect body clad in her reserved undergarments and he was even more in awe as she removed her skirts and petticoats. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he was unable to pull himself away. The fear of getting caught and the excitement of what was before his eyes were almost gluing him to the spot as he had dreamed of something like this happening for a long time but never expected the dream to be made into reality.

She then began to untie her corset, teasing Erik as she undid the lace gradually, heightening his excitement. The corset dropped to the floor and almost immediately she began to slip off her chemise revealing her perfect nude body underneath. Erik felt a tingling sensation spread across the lower half of himself and he suddenly felt his trousers grow tighter and a feeling of lust grew in his chest as he watched Christine slip down her bloomers displaying her slender shape. His eyes rolled over her curves and her perfect complexion as the rest of his body was yearning to express this feeling of fiery lust that consumed his mind and senses. Just then, Christine walked out of his line of sight and into the en suite bathroom. Erik could hear a bath running in the background and he was left alone with her empty room.

It was not long before Christine returned. She turned to face the mirror head on and if Erik was not already aroused he would surely be now. She was examining her body, looking at all the flaws that she could see, all of which were perfections in his eyes. Christine was all perfection to Erik. Everything about her body made him covet her. Every inch of her perfect skin induced a raw lust in Erik, he felt like an animal, like some sort of predator, and Christine Da e was his beautiful prey. She was so close to him, he could almost feel her flawless figure in his monstrous hands which were shaking with ecstasy. It was only the solid sheet of glass that prevented his fantasy from taking place. That cursed sheet of glass! Erik himself had moved closer to it as Christine had walked towards it to look into it; he had placed his hands on the glass in his excitement. He wanted so badly to run his hand through her hair and down her back and all over her picturesque body as they kissed passionately entwining together in a sexual frenzy where she would avidly tear away at his clothes and he would make her scream his name long into the night!

His dirty thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Christine left suddenly to check on her bath. (Or so he presumed.) He had suddenly realised what he was doing! He was spying on his dear, innocent Christine! All those things the ballet rats said about him being a perverted old man living in the dungeons of the Opera house were coming true and he had never felt more ashamed of himself in his whole life! He had forgotten his morals in his excitement, and let his emotions take over his body instead of his sense. He was supposed to love her, and this was not an acceptable way to show it! Erik left quickly, partly for fear of being caught, he would admit, but mostly because he felt an embarrassment and a harsh shame replace the aroused, animalistic feelings so prevalent before. The walk back however, was one of the loneliest he had experienced in his whole life.


	5. Music Of The Night

Christine relaxed into the bath that she had just run for herself. She let the bubbles close in around her as she was left with her thoughts and her thoughts alone. The most prevalent of her thoughts were those of the Phantom. Her masked madman who had fought so ferociously to acquire her hand in marriage and failed. She felt bad that she had betrayed him; that she had ignored his feelings; she had called him a monster, said that he was too horrible for her to look upon. She was over-exaggerating. He was horrible, but not as horrible as she had described. Erik was a lonely little ghost and all he really needed was some compassion to set him straight, someone to guide him away from his angry, pitiful life into a new, happier more love-filled life; the life which he should have been accustomed too, but was denied because of his deformities. Christine sank further down, letting the warm water embrace her calmly. She closed her eyes and relaxed as the tranquil silence filled the room and Christine couldn t help but think of how little silence she experienced in her life of music and drama. It was usually in moments of silence like this she would have heard the voice; the sweet, angelic voice that would inspire her to sing with frightening passion. Passion- that was not something she experienced with Raoul anymore. At the beginning of their relationship, everything had been fiery and full of raw emotion and they had been so very much in love. Their love was now dull and lifeless; it had withered away and died like a neglected flower in winter. There were so many things about Raoul Christine hadn t noticed until she married him just as there were so many things she hadn t noticed about the Opera Ghost until she gave him up, such as his utter devotion to her and the kindness he had displayed towards her. She had thought him creepy and evil, when he had the room for her, when he had written songs for her and when he had told her she was never to leave for she would not return. He had still let her go regardless, but she had betrayed him. How wicked she had been! If only she could apologise to him for everything she had put him through, if only she could let him know that she was regretting her decision, that Raoul could be so selfish, although admittedly unintentionally, and thoughtless and his devotion paled in comparison to Erik s pure devoted love to her. Erik sang to her and spent so many hours talking to her through the huge mirror in her dressing room-turned-dormitory, the huge mirror she at one time seemed to disappear through! That was it! Her mirror!  
She clambered as quickly as she could out of the slippery tub, quickly dried herself and then threw on her dressing gown to cover herself and her slippers to protect her feet and once again descended into the Phantom s lair, where she had been held captive and had betrayed his trust by taking off his mask. How frightening he had been at that point. He was furious and violent, like some sort of malevolent demon. That had skewed her vision of him and after that she had only been able to view him in a bad light but now she realised that had she just kept her hands to herself he would not have lashed out at her. She quickly made her way through the dilapidated corridors that led to the damp, earthy home that the Phantom often hid himself in with only his music to keep him company. She reached the end of the hallway and was suddenly surrounded by beautiful music. She could hear his beautiful voice echoing across the vast lake that led to his underground retreat. She remembered that angelic, entrancing voice from so long ago. Wait, she could hear his voice! She was listening to the Phantom s voice! That could only mean that the obituary she had read and mourned at was false and her beloved Phantom was not dead, but merely in hiding! Some of the guilt had been lifted from her shoulders, but more guilt quickly replaced it. She had not gone back to bury him, and as he wasn t even dead it meant that he knew she had performed an act of ultimate betrayal. Those were his dying wishes and she had ignored them. He surely hated her now! He would probably sooner kill her on the spot never mind talk to her. She just needed to explain to him that it wasn t her fault, that it was Raoul who had convinced her that it was probably a trick. Which it was after all! He was not dead, so what did he want with her then? She also realised that if she had travelled down the mirror-path to his home, then he could just as easily have travelled up the mirror-path to her dormitory.  
She listened more intently to the music that enveloped her in a soft blanket made of a divine combination between the sweetly played organ and the Phantom s unique voice which elegantly pierced the silence and made her feel like she was standing at the very gates of heaven itself. It must be from a new Opera he was conjuring up. Did he intend for it to be heard? She felt almost intrusive as she sat in silence listening to his innermost thoughts. That is what his music was after all, it was always his desires and his sorrows knitted into the carefully drawn out staves and notes which were always so elegantly played with his corpse-like hands gliding over the keys of his organ. His music seduced her, it enticed her to come closer and she had to fight against it before she was ensnared in one of the Opera Ghost s infamous traps. People did not usually make it out alive from those, and it was not Christine s intention to even be sensed let alone killed.  
She sat most of the night on the opposite shore of the lake listening to his music which described a love so passionate that Christine s body ached from just listening to it. She lay with her eyes closed picturing herself rolling under the sheets with- It was not Raoul that she had thought of when she listened to his music, it was always the Phantom. His voice, so tender and gentle yet, which could be thunderous and mighty, made her tremble and weak at the knees. The song described a feeling such as this, and when he sang it, she could feel it. She could feel the fervour in every word, and every hard consonant made her hairs stand on end. Christine had never experienced music that gave such a rise in her before, she could literally feel every word pronounced, every syllable spoken! It was as though his music controlled her very being. This music was not as terrible as Don Juan Triumphant, but was still frightening to her as it seemed all-consuming in a hauntingly pleasant way.  
Every time the Phantom stopped to pen what he had just played, Christine felt a release. The emotion built inside her when it played so much, that she feared if she listened to it long enough, she would be forced to sob because of its beauty and then the Opera Ghost definitely would catch her! The music had stopped for a worrisome amount of time, and so Christine began to walk back the way she came. She thought that she could perhaps come down here any day and secretly listen to the music that the Phantom was composing, but her thought was interrupted as she saw a shadow move in the distance. She had to be seeing things surely, but it had resembled a shadow she knew from long ago. She began to run, when suddenly a cold, bony, corpse-like hand seized her wrist with a threatening grip and began to drag her back down into the dungeons below. 


	6. Down Once More

**WARNING!: this chapter contains some 'sexy times' you've been warned and thanks to everyone who sent the wonderful reviews! **

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Erik thought that he had heard something after the alarm went off. He had a lot of alarms at all the secret entrances of his home, but most of the time these were set off by rats, not by people! He was not expecting Christine however, he had expected it to be some simple ballet rat or the Giry girl, and instead it was the one person that he did not want to hear his new Opera. He was furious! Christine had gone and invaded his privacy! He was embarrassed that she had heard that particular aria, the one that he had written with his fantasy of them both in mind. He trailed her by her wrist violently and threw into the boat and began to sail over the misty waters of the lake. He knew he had heard something when he was playing, but when he stopped to listen, it had gone silent again and when he finally decided to check it was Christine! He would have preferred Raoul to have come down, then at least he could have killed him on the spot, but it had to have been her. He could not kill Christine; she was and always had been everything to him.

He cast her aside onto the ground when they had entered his home. WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? He spat at her poisonously. Christine seemed paralysed with fear as he towered over her menacingly. YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO COME DOWN HERE! Erik paced up and down the stone floors of his home throwing intimidating glances at her. Christine sat terrified and watched him. YOU WEREN T SUPPOSED TO KNOW I WAS ALIVE! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BURY ME! With that he lifted one corpse-like hand and raised it above her, with the intention of bringing it down upon her, to hit her. He stopped himself though, he was not about to hurt her again. He loved her after all, even if she was a nosy little brat. He lowered the hand slowly and then turned away from her; he would not let her seem him crying.

That would only add to the embarrassment he was already experiencing.  
Why would you come back? He sobbed, Morbid curiosity? Did you come to experience the delights of looking upon my accursed ugliness? He slumped on the chair and leaned against his organ. Christine, why? He buried his face in his arms and wept bitterly and waving one dismissing hand in her direction, he finished with: Leave me alone Christine. He continued to weep into his arms until he felt a soft hand rest upon his shoulder. Erik seemed to ignore Christine, who was now standing beside him with a gentle hand rested on his shoulder. Without another word, she put the other hand on his horrid face and turned him to look at her. Instinctively, he stood up to level with her, the tears still streaming down his grotesque cheeks as Christine moved toward him and removed his mask once again, pulling him closer to her just as he was about to recoil. Then, without pause or hesitation, she kissed the trembling man passionately throwing her arms around him.

Erik had longed for another of Christine s kisses, but never expected it to happen! His heart felt like it was going to burst and he could not stop himself from trembling as Christine ran her dainty hands across his chest. His hands shook as he placed them around her and she moved in once again, kissing him more passionately than before. Erik was left speechless as Christine took a step back and began to explain her actions. I never should have abandoned you. She leaned her head against his chest, closed her eyes and smiled. She felt much more at home against him. Erik, still assessing the situation, let his cynical nature take over. What about Raoul? He almost seemed to spit his name. Erik could not comprehend why Christine was down here, if she had loved Raoul so much. Christine began to explain, I had loved him, but back then I was not aware of his true nature. He is so blindly ignorant! He does not truly understand me the way that you do, Erik. You are kind, and thoughtful, I m sorry.

Erik, still trembling, held her closer, hugging her into him. His beautiful Christine was in his arms again, except this time there was no resistance from her. His Christine, his angel, had come back to him and entirely of her own accord. She had kissed him entirely of her own accord and now her beautiful frame was pressed against him. He ran his hands through her soft hair as she turned to look at him again. She placed a delicate hand against his misshapen cheek and wiped his face of tears as she smiled at him. Erik had never felt so happy in his entire life! This was just like all those dreams he had. He hoped to God this wasn t a dream, it felt so real. Feeling more confident as his nerves had calmed slightly, he moved away from Christine to fix himself and make himself somewhat presentable, if that was possible.

Erik turned to face Christine again, but now she had a different look in her eyes. It was not one he had seen her wear before. She moved toward him gracefully, and placing one hand against him, she pushed him onto the chair which stood behind him. She then threw her leg over him, and straddled his lap, pulling him into another ardent kiss, her hands straying all over his body. Erik could feel that tingling sensation seize his lower half as Christine continued unbuttoning, gently kissing his neck and his trousers grew tighter which only seemed to excite Christine more and she worked faster at his fastenings. She had eventually worked her way down to his trouser button and gave Erik the release he needed, all the while, pressing her body against him. His nerves had come back, and he was trembling all the more.

He watched as Christine slipped off her dressing gown and gently kissed down his bare chest, making her way down to his hips, feeling his corpse-like body on the way down. The pace of his breath began to quicken as she placed her lips on him and caressed the tip with her tongue before slipping her mouth around him, head jerking back and forth in erratic movements that made Erik quiver in pleasure. Feeling him beginning to tremble, Christine increased her pace forcing him to grip the hard, mahogany frame of the chair he had been forced upon with such ferocity that the whites of his deformed knuckles were visible, letting a small groan escape his misshapen, slightly parted lips. Erik had never experienced such an intense pleasure before, such a hungry need, his back arched pushing his hips forward, thrusting into her mouth. Christine realising he was nearing his pique, pulled away. Erik gasped at the loss but his gasp turned to a long moan as Christine gently straddled him and began to kiss and nip up his neck before licking greedily at his malformed jawline.

Christine placed his grotesque hands around her perfectly curved waist, still kissing and nipping at his neck as she forced him into a rhythmic pattern that quickened his heart rate and filled him with an all-consuming passion. Erik s pace hastened as his pleasure heightened and Christine screamed his name, echoing every syllable through the empty house. A long, growl-like moan slipped through his distorted lips as he climaxed, the rhythm slowing to a gradual halt as Christine relaxed upon him, exhausted. Erik could feel his eyes drift shut, muttering Christine, I love you as he fell into a peaceful sleep, Christine still upon his lap. He had everything he could want in his grasp right at this exact moment, and for once in his life of sorrow and solitude he was able to smile as his mind fell softly into the clasps of a joyous sleep.

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**Special thanks to chaz1997 for the awsome review!, it made Sibling's week! **


	7. Angel Of Music, You Decieved Me

Raoul knocked on the door of Christine s dormitory for the fifth time. He had not heard one reply to his efforts and he was beginning to grow weary of waiting. Christine? You haven t answered me yet, so I m going to come in now! Sighing, he pushed the large, white door open slightly, and peered into the seemingly empty room. He called out her name once more, before deciding to investigate further and venturing into the bathroom. Seeing the bath still full with the softly scented water that Christine frequently bathed herself in, he grew anxious and called to her again. Raoul was worried now. Why would Christine leave a full bath? She adored her quiet alone time, it didn t make any sense to him.

He left the bathroom and began to search her room for clues to her whereabouts. He walked past the huge, ornate mirror and a sudden realisation struck him like lightening. The mirror! Hadn t the phantom used that mirror all those years ago to converse with Christine and build a friendship with her? Hadn t he led Christine out via that mirror in front of Raoul s own eyes? Raoul slowly turned to face the large mirror-like entrance and noticed that it was slightly ajar. His panic reaching a high, he pushed aside the opening and pistol in hand; he descended into the Phantom s lair keeping his hand at the level of his eyes.

Erik woke with a start when he heard one of his many alarms being tripped. He cursed to himself as he found Christine was still on top of him, and attempted to wake her. He looked around for his clothes but as the candles from last night had burned out, he could not see them. Panicking more now, he called to Christine quietly to try to rouse her from her sleep, without alerting the intruder but to no avail. Erik shook her gently, but his effort to awake her were interrupted by the Vicomte s shouts. Christine awoke immediately upon hearing her husband and began to thrash and hit Erik so as to mimic a row. Having no clue as to what Christine was up to, Erik attempted to protect himself from her by holding her arms away from him and just as he had rendered her useless she screamed at the top of her lungs: Raoul! Help me! Help! Erik s stomach dropped.

What in the world was Christine doing? She was calling for help? Why? What had he done? After all, she had come on to him. She had seduced him with her womanly charms. Poor virgin Erik stood no chance! He suddenly felt very foolish for letting himself believe that someone as perfect as her would ever think about loving him. Panicked, afraid and gravely embarrassed, Erik was rendered speechless as Raoul rushed in to the grotesque man s home to save his Christine. Christine still screamed and fought with Erik more, faking tears and faking horror as she called to her husband to save her. Why had he let himself fall for her again? Erik felt his own, real tears fall down his cheeks as Raoul entered the room and raised his pistol. Taking aim, he fired a single shot.

A searing pain, unlike any Erik had experienced before, exploded in him and he let out an almighty scream which seemed to permeate every crevice in the dark, earthy abode. Christine leapt off him and swiftly covered herself in her dressing gown. She ran toward Raoul and buried her face in his chest as the Phantom sat gasping for air, no dignity left to him. Raoul kissed Christine on the top of her head and led her back up the slithering corridors to her dormitory. As they were about to return to the world of daylight above, Raoul cut the rope which activated the balance system of the mirror and led Christine through quickly. They successfully sealed the entrance to that horrid, wretched, monstrous man s lair for good.

Erik had given up hope. The one person that he longed for had disowned him after taking something very special from him. He let the blood flow freely from the wound, as he called out Christine He hoped that she would change her mind, and would pretend to love him again, even for a little while until he died so that his death would at least be a happy one. His soft sobs echoed through the empty stone room and Erik found himself alone as the clutches of death grasped at him. His pathetic life played through his head and he saw all the solitude and injustice put upon him fade away as the blackness of the hands of death clawed at him until he slipped into a state of unconsciousness. He lay there, naked and alone, with nothing now, no one to care about him or to care for him.

It was over.


	8. Epilogue

Christine did not feel it necessary to tell anyone of what had happened. She told Raoul she would rather keep it a secret that He, that horrible, malformed man who reeked of death had taken her. Raoul understood. She would never tell him the truth of what went on that night. He would never ask, he felt it unnecessary to burden his bride with the horror of having to relive those ghastly moments and the shock of being questioned on them.

She continued to work in the Opera Populaire.

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**Hello! This is a personal note from the author. Thank you all very much for your support, I was too shy to post this on here under my own name, but your encouragement and kindness has shown me the warm welcome that users so generously display. I am mostly writing to tell you that I have started writing a sequel to this fan fiction, and I have another, third sequel planned out. I also wish to let you know that I may be making my own account, in which I will re-upload my story too, as opposed to my generous sibling's account. **

**Thank you all.**


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